My head was slightly elevated as I strained my neck to look at the building in front of me. I pulled out the piece of paper on which I had written the address that I had found online after spending hours looking and becoming lost in Google's rabbit hole for days.

I wasn't entirely sure if the address I had written down on the piece of paper was the right one when I did so. Now, I'm feeling increasingly uncertain as I stand here by myself. Maybe I took the wrong bus to get here and should've booked a ride on Uber.

Despite how expensive the trip would be to get here; I think that booking an Uber was the wiser choice. I knew the trip would be easy for me and that I wouldn't get lost if only I had booked an Uber earlier.

But I don't have that much money. I felt myself sighing from the exhausting bus ride. I had assumed it would be easier for me to walk around and get that note on my own, but having Aaren present made things much easier, more convenient, and not boring than being by myself in an unfamiliar city.

But I didn't want to be a burden to Aaren, knowing that he had more important things to attend to. He was never meant to be my companion in the first place, anyway.

And I did say that I will retrieve those notes all by myself from now on, and that's what I'll be doing. Hopefully, I will be able to.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

I took a step forward, still staring at the building in front of me. I can see someone standing, watching me from the corner of my eye.

"Hey—"

I can't do this! I immediately walked in the opposite direction, speed-walking my way back to the bus station.

It quickly started to seem like a natural course to run. As I drag my feet and force myself to run harder and faster, I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I'm confident that at this great speed, I could see the bus terminal just a few feet away.

"Hey! Wait!"

I focused on the track in front of me as I kept my head straight. In movies, I've always found it annoying when actors were running and their heads would swivel to look at the killer that was chasing them, causing them to slow down or trip.

I quickened my pace and began to run more quickly, feeling as though my feet were ready to explode as the wind blew my hair away from my face.

"It's me!"

As I kept running, I began to yell and hum la-la-la louder and louder to drown out the sound of his voice. My mind raced with ideas of being killed or abducted by this person following me, and I almost lost my footing.

"It's me! Bill!"

Bill? I immediately slowed down as my head gradually turns to look at him. My eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of him, and my eyebrows pinched against one another.

"Bill?!" I said, confused. I blink my eyes a few times the moment I got a good sight of him. "Bill!"

I hear him gasping for air as I see him bend forward, resting his hands on his knees. I waited a few seconds for him to get a hold of his breath before I continued, feeling slightly sorry for him.

"I'm sorry. My very first instinct was to run," I told him as he gave me a look, "I thought you were going to rob me or kidnap me back there."

He stood up straight, "Is your sport track and field? If not, you should really consider that," he says in between breaths. He took a deep inhale and exhale.

"Anyway, it was great to see you. I never really thought I'd run into you here in San Bernardino."

I answered with a grin on my face, "It's really great to see you, too." My thoughts started to fill up with many questions concerning the paintings my mother had sold with him and the ones that still remained at his gallery in Carlsbad.

He returned a smile, "Should we get some coffee?" I stare at him, "I'm assuming you have a lot of questions for me." He adds, and I immediately nodded happily in response to his invitation.

❀

When we entered the shop, whiffing the smell of coffee. After strolling in the glaring sunbeams just outside, one's eyes would have an easy time adjusting to the lighting being muted inside. Bill chose my drink from the menu, and I took a seat at one of the tables that were closest to the barista.

The table was rich, dark mahogany, and the seat had a cozy fit for the backrest. As the coffee bean scent flooded the space, pulling me in, I wonder whether a soothing jazz piano playing in the background is a must for coffee shops.

I watch Bill walking steadily slow, balancing the tray of two iced drinks and two plates with different flavors of sliced cake. As he sat down, placing the drink and the plate in front of me, I picked up my drink and took a sip to quench an uprising thirst.

"So, how have you been?" He asks as I observe him trace the top of his glass of iced coffee with his finger, around in endless circles.

I wore a hesitant, awkward smile because I knew that, in some way, the way he used to gaze at my mother's paintings, there was always a tinge of judgment behind his eyes.

Cocking my head to one side, "Well," I said as I mimicked the way he traced the top of his glass of iced coffee with my own, "Depends on whether you are seeking an honest answer or a continuous masked of emotion."

He chuckles as he lifts his drink, taking a sip.

"You are your mother's daughter," he says, smiling, making me shrug smugly.

"We've tried contacting you for months before but your number is out of service. I just wanted to know what happened to my mom's paintings and the ones that she sold before my sister passed away," I immediately aimed for the goal of this conversation. I knew that if we kept talking lightly at each other, there wouldn't be any point in staying here any longer.

He lays back, "Her paintings are still in my gallery. You can keep them if you wish because I don't have any more reason to keep keeping them there."

"Do you, by chance, keep a list of people who bought my mom's artworks?" I asked, making his eyebrows knit together.

He stares at me for a second as if thinking about it, "I don't seem to remember if I do. Why do you ask?" he says.

I fidget with my fingers, "I just wanted to check on something."

"Something...?"

I nod my head, thinking what better words to use to explain that 'something' without having to tell him the whole reason behind it.

"Some... details about the painting," I told him but he seems to not buy my explanation.

"I'm sorry, I don't know," He says with his shoulder slumped lazily, "Although, your mom and I kept a list of clients who would always buy her paintings from abroad. Would that help you in any way?"

I take another sip from my beverage, tasting the less-bittered coffee now.

The noise from the cars beeping outside the shop invades my thoughts, destroying my line of thinking about the main points of the conversation. I debated whether I should ask him if he knew something about my parents since I remember him being in our house every week, visiting my mom to check the progress of her work.

What if he knows something about what happened that night, too?

I felt something inside of me spark as soon as I looked at him, and anxiousness came along with the feeling.

"Is there anything else you would like to ask me?" he took the initiative to speak first and ask me.

"I'm just curious," I smile awkwardly, "Why weren't you at the funeral when they died?"

His smile and mine faded immediately. He didn't seem nervous when I asked him that but it took him quite some time to formulate a response to my question.

"But you were there when we held a funeral for my sister," I added. "You were comforting my mom when she was crying," My voice rose as I recalled the emotion I had felt at that time when I had witnessed my mom resting her head on his shoulder as Bill caressed her head, kissing it.

"What kind of relationship do you have with my mother?"

He shakes his head, "It's not what you think it is," he says, "We are not cheating on your father if that's what really you are thinking."

I remained silent and just continue to stare at him. He closed his eyes for a second, sighing. When he opened his eyes, he immediately held my gaze and asked, "Do you really want to know?"

His question made me doubt asking my question. When he asked me, it felt like a warning. It felt like I was about to regret knowing whatever it is I wanted and needed to know.

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat as I feel my heart beginning to pound faster inside my ribcage, ready to explode at any given moment.

Will this give me answers to the questions I kept all to myself for years? Will this... finally give me peace?